Page 58 of No Good Deed

The men nodded, and Jim spoke. “It’s worth a try. Let’s go.”

They raced back to the building, but when they reached it, Troy called them to a halt. “We’ve got to be quiet. If he’s inside, we don’t want to alert him. There are two sets of stairs. One in the front room and another from the kitchen. I’m going to head up the back. You guys wait in the front room. Put your phones on silent and update Marcus.”

He opened the door, and they eased inside, closing the door behind them.

No sounds from anywhere, but Troy felt the rush of blood and adrenaline he’d often felt on missions.

She was here.

She had to be.

CHAPTER 21

The Good Fight

Troy dropped into warrior mode like he had when he’d been on missions in the military. They’d been trained to focus on their senses and the world around them.

Peripherally, he knew where Jim and Carl stood. He heard muted sounds from outside, and smelled the cleaning supplies they’d used the previous day to get the saloon ready for Piper’s presentation.

But he could also feel that Piper was there. The rightness of the mission clicked into place, and he turned predator. Ethan Westerlake didn’t stand a chance if he was still here.

Troy didn’t waste time as he headed silently to the stairs at the back of the kitchen. They’d only dusted and cleaned what people could see, which meant the lower part of the staircase. No one would have cleaned beyond that. Troy leaned around the corner, but couldn’t tell in the dim light if the dust had been disturbed.

He was about to risk a light to see when he heard a creak above his head.

Troy smiled grimly when he heard another creak. The bastard was moving toward the stairs. Towards Troy.

Instead of moving his feet and risking his own movements giving him away, Troy crouched where he stood. The sun had set, and his body would be hidden in the deepening shadows. He would have the element of surprise.

Nothing in Westerlake’s background showed military or martial arts training. He had a gym membership and used it, but Troy figured he was more than a match for the jerk in a physical battle. Plus, he had a whole lot of righteous anger on his side.

The creaks continued intermittently. Either the man was walking slowly because he was aware he wasn’t alone in the building, or he was being cautious. It wouldn’t matter.

There was a slim possibility that the person above could be Piper or an innocent bystander, maybe a squatter or kid exploring. Troy would be sure before he moved.

The next creak was from the stairs themselves. Not all the boards above creaked, probably the same as the stairs.

Troy slowed his breathing further and widened his senses, feeling the movement of the air around him.

No scent of perfume or cologne reached him, but the odor of sweat drifted down the staircase. It wasn’t Piper’s scent, but could still be someone else.

His gut told him it was Westerlake and he trusted it.

The air shifted as the person approached. Troy’s muscles were ready to move, but he wanted visual confirmation of who the person was before he reacted.

The feet were visible first. Dry, fancy winter boots suitable for the city but not for Phail living. Strike one.

Next were trousers that had been pressed to form a crease down the middle. They were dirty and rumpled, but Troy would bet they’d cost more than anything he owned himself. Strike two.

The man didn’t react to Troy’s presence. But he did show caution as he paused on the second bottom step, face still in the shadows, but gun visible in his hand.

The man bent to peek around the corner, and the light from the window was bright enough for Troy to recognize his features.

Strike three, asshole.

Troy rose from his crouch even as he gripped the man’s jacket with one hand and tossed away the gun with the other. He yanked Westerlake down the final steps and threw a punch to his jaw before any of the man’s muscles reacted.

He tried to stumble back, but Troy didn’t let go. Westerlake swung a punch with his right hand but Troy dodged it easily and threw another.

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